Stories
Story of the Week
For Henry Moore there is not only the best day but the worst.
Story of the Week
There was something that eluded me, that was always outside the frame.
iPoems
An expansion into light, or we could have been, or were for a moment.
Poem of the Week
I’m going to cut me some ham and wait for death to lace his boots.
Poem of the Week
After having been riddled with stars: I lost the light that was lost.
Poetry
Don’t worry baby, that’s just the way things be sometimes.
Poem of the Week
It’s wrong to say the lightning is pink is nothing other than to say it’s not.
Poetry
The itch of hay dust was the unscratchable itch of desire.
Poetry
When I speak and wave my arms, it sniffs the air and watches me.
Poetry
Since the day the bell was cast I have sat in the bishop’s carved chair and waited my turn.
Poem of the Week
It’s hard to save your own life, to take such extreme measures alone.
Poem of the Week
I’m the astronomer unable to lower his telescope, or look away.
Poem of the Week
Call it an echo. Like a sketch of the moon as the moon lies in silvery forms.
Poem of the Week
Some portion of love is braided from lying, from the names of distance.
Poem of the Week
She was so beautiful and sweet to us. I remember she laughed a lot.
Poem of the Week
The white geometry of caulk between bathroom tiles—I’m held in place.
Story of the Week
Mark was spending his life with one of the world’s weaklings.
Poetry
Break me like bread. Take me apart. Strip each rib down to light.
Fiction
Abe shot himself, first year out of high school. Assholes said he was queer.
iPoems
damn it we both die anyway at different times, with different pains
Story of the Week
“A book is an ax,” Franz Kafka once said, “for the frozen sea within.”
Poem of the Week
Welcome, little citizen. Lend me your presence, and I’ll lend you mine.
Fiction
“Leaving for war, Hayes wept. He didn’t just cry; he wept...”
Short Shorts
His eyes, dark brown and unwavering as he delivered the details.
Story of the Week
I felt that Teddy occupied a range below acceptability, even among boys.
Poem of the Week
There is still the same reaching of the tongue for that pink ridge.
Story of the Week
She closed her mind to all familiar shapes and strained back.
Fiction
Eleanor opened the door to Nick’s bedroom and felt breathless with fury.
Story of the Week
I began to look for evidence of my father’s duplicity in his body.
